


Written across the fabric of our years

by Harmony



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony/pseuds/Harmony
Summary: A series of canon-compliant promnis ficlets (in no particular order).1:In which Gladiolus witnesses a moment of affection during the long darkness, and it helps put things into perspective.2:In which Ignis and Prompto have grown old together, and the decades haven't dulled Ignis' visual memory of certain things.3:In which Prompto thinks Ignis is unquestionably beautiful, injury scars and all.4:In which Noctis gets a glimpse of two of his friends fighting for one another, along with whatever feelings lie beneath it all.5:In which Ignis offers a lesson that eventually returns to him in a different form.6 (**NEW**):In which Ignis learns to let uncertainties fade, and it brings about profound change.‘Hello to you too,’ Ignis murmurs with subtle delight. ‘I actually cooked enough for both of us tonight – if you’d be inclined to join me for dinner?’‘Why, Ignis Scientia.’ A playfully scrunching nose, a pale gleam of teeth within a budding grin. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’





	1. the sun and moon meeting in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> Hi promnis fandom! I'm new here - this is my first time writing FFXV; I genuinely thought that the first fic I'd ever write for this fandom would be promptis, but hey, I'm glad with the way things turned out. Because promnis actually takes up an _incredible_ portion of my heart, and they're sadly so rare. These ficlets may be just a tiny offering to the promnis fandom, but I have my fingers crossed that you guys will like them u__u If they're well-received, I'll definitely consider putting out a longer work!
> 
> Any feedback would be so much appreciated - I would love to know what you think! Thanks for reading :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Gladiolus witnesses a moment of affection during the long darkness, and it helps put things into perspective._
> 
> This ficlet (as well as the next two) was written for the 'Promise' promnis zine publication organized by kingcael and fungusamongus - a very special thank you to kingcael for being so patient with me and for granting me permission to post these before the zine is published!
> 
> Come chat FF (and promnis) with me [on Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/167735552041/ficlet-the-sun-and-moon-meeting-in-the-middle)! Hope you enjoy ❤︎

## the sun and moon meeting in the middle

  
He hadn’t stretched the debate out much further that day in Fodina Caestino, when Prompto had looked him dead in the eye with heels planted firm and jaw hard-set, insisting that Ignis _should be free to choose_. He’d only thought to himself very briefly and out of the blue, then, that Prompto and Ignis were like the sun and moon – a paradox of hot conviction and cool resolve, and so long as they both managed to power through it all with everything they had, Gladiolus would have little to complain about.

‘He’s rather like summer, isn’t he,’ Ignis had once casually said to him during one of their camping afternoons, as Prompto was cheerfully mollycoddling his rental chocobo by their tent’s entryway. Gladiolus had remembered that moment as they’d left the muddy quarry, and had suddenly molded it into reasoning – Prompto was young and passionate, and was surely worked up when it came to anything he steadfastly believed in.

He’s discovered, over the years, that that brief thought may have been shallower than the layers that’d always been there.

It’s rare that all three of them are together these days, what with Noctis slumbering in the Crystal and with so much that they have to keep fighting for separately under the darkness. But here, in the tiny, age-worn Lestallum apartment that the three of them have bought out to sleep in whenever they’re in town, Gladiolus can see it, clear as water.

Ignis and Prompto are in the kitchenette when he walks in, travel bag dangling haphazardly from his knuckles, and they don’t seem to have noticed his arrival. Something is bubbling almost musically on the stove, emitting a mouthwatering fragrance, and Prompto has Ignis closely pressed against the counter at an angle, murmuring something indistinct into Ignis’ jaw as their fingers curl into each other’s hips. Ignis is trailing the tip of his nose over the cut of Prompto’s cheekbone; a warm curve adorns the corners of his lips – the beginnings of a half-smile.

They look earnestly, keenly, _painfully_ in love.

It’s really kind of a stunning sight, even if Gladiolus has already known about their blossomed relationship for some time. Ignis, straight-backed and level-shouldered for as long as Gladiolus has known him, looks soft and pliant like this, as though he’s given himself over completely. Prompto is as sunny as ever; although here, that flame burns with a kind of gentle intimacy that Gladiolus knows is for Ignis alone. The sun and moon meeting in the middle.

When Prompto finally notices him, he cheekily lays a single drawn-out kiss to Ignis’ mouth, and then croons, ‘Hey, Gladio.’

Ignis turns his head at that, eyes unseeing but his expression still _knowing_. ‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ he says evenly. ‘Welcome back.’

Gladiolus loves them like his brothers. He’s glad that in the end, Ignis _did_ freely choose as Prompto had said was his right, and has never once yielded to surrender. He’s glad that Prompto has willingly had Ignis’ back for all of it. He’s glad that, in all this, these two had somehow found each other.

The grin he gives them is heartfelt.

‘Good to see you guys again.’

 


	2. to map the constellations on your skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Ignis and Prompto have grown old together, and the decades haven't dulled Ignis' visual memory of certain things._
> 
> I wanted to write about promnis having grown old together - i.e. a pair of cute old men who still have a strong and happy relationship after many many decades, so here you are haha.
> 
> Once again, this was written for the 'Promise' promnis zine publication organized by kingcael and fungusamongus - thank you ever so kindly to kingcael for your patience, and for granting me permission to post these before the zine is published!
> 
> As usual, feel free to come chat FF (and promnis) with me [on Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/167889112976/ficlet-to-map-the-constellations-on-your-skin) ❤︎

## to map the constellations on your skin

  
‘Do you think you remember?’

It’s a laden question weighed by many sightless decades, one of which had carried the worst of war and actual darkness. But Ignis smiles sincerely, contentment settling sun-warm in his chest.

‘I’d like to imagine I do,’ he says simply. ‘I daresay that perhaps my sighted memory’s withered as I have after all this time, but if any of it is hard to forget, it’s you.’

The breath that Prompto sucks in through his teeth at that is quiet, long, quivering.

‘… May I touch you?’ Ignis asks then, the subtle yearning kindling in his voice.

Prompto lets out a thin huff of laughter, the sound somewhat hoarse and full of emotion. ‘We’ve been together for nearly forty years, Iggy,’ he answers mildly, sliding age-worn fingers into Ignis’ in order to take both of his hands. ‘We’re long past the point of asking permission, don’t you think? You already know you can touch me whenever you want.’

He _does_ know, but there’s something that feels extra sacred in asking. In being let in all over again, for the thousandth, millionth time.

They’re not young anymore, and when Prompto proceeds to lift Ignis’ hands to his face, Ignis feels every mark of it beneath the roughened pads of his fingertips. The delicate creases at the corners of Prompto’s eyes; the slight sag at the hollows of Prompto’s cheeks; the drier quality to the surface of Prompto’s skin. Ignis has run his thumb over that jawline every day for nearly forty years. He’s pressed heartfelt kisses to those lips every morning, every night.

There are times when he does find himself wishing that he could have his eyesight back for just one day – one _hour_ , even, if only to be able to look at Prompto as he is now. Vibrant blond hair softened into grey, and _freckles totally still there_ , as Prompto had told him. But he’s also long made peace with the way things have come to pass, and for him, mapping the contours of Prompto’s face with his fingers is much the same as looking. He thinks he may very well see the mirage of those freckles right now, in front of his unseeing eyes: constellations dappled over pale skin.

Prompto’s hot exhale is shaky at the edges, his eyelashes damp with beads of moisture.

‘… I’m seriously the luckiest man in the world, you know,’ his throat scrapes out. ‘Being able to grow old with you.’

The sentiment rings beautiful and heavy, a solid anchor in Ignis’ belly. He replies, indescribably fond: ‘That’s my line.’

Tomorrow, Gladiolus and his wife will visit their home. They’ll most likely reminisce about days long past, as they usually do, in addition to catching up; Ignis looks forward to every moment of it, and he knows Prompto does too. There are small things here and there that he may have eventually forgotten the look of over the years, but Prompto and Gladiolus have always made it easier for him to keep remembering.

Prompto smiles beneath Ignis’ fingertips, and after all the bygone decades, that’s one sight that’s never faded from Ignis’ memory.

 


	3. carved into all my bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Prompto thinks Ignis is unquestionably beautiful, injury scars and all._
> 
> Set two years after Noctis is pulled into the Crystal. This is the third work I wrote for the 'Promise' promnis zine publication organized by kingcael and fungusamongus - once again, sincere thanks to kingcael for granting me permission to post these before the zine is published!
> 
> As usual, feel free to come chat FF (and promnis) with me [on Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/168335893991/ficlet-carved-into-all-my-bones) ❤︎

## carved into all my bones

   
Ignis stirs awake to fingertips lightly trailing just above his cheekbone.

He doesn’t mean to flinch, but it’s an unruly reflex; he knows it’s where the scar tissue has bloomed like a flower over his skin, a permanent reminder of what’s meant to be a bygone injury. Yet some days it still flickers all the way down in his chest like an unyielding burn, prickling like an open wound, raw and vulnerable.

Strangely enough, he’s sort of grown used to it, despite everything.

‘I imagine it looks terribly unflattering,’ he says, voice scraping slightly rough with the after-traces of sleep.

A graceless sniff of incredulity, above him and somewhere to his left. ‘Nothing about you could ever be unflattering, Iggy. And hey, I’m not saying that just to be nice or to spare your feelings. I was literally thinking about how handsome you are just now, you know.’

He knows full well that Prompto means it, that Prompto’s always had the best intentions since the very beginning. His body’s held the memory of every time that Prompto’s unreservedly come to his aid in place of his now-unseeing eyes: the kind, reassuring voice at his ear, and a guiding hand pressed flat at the small of his back or draped over the bend of his elbow. A brush of fingers here, a telltale curve of knuckles there. A grounding anchor.

The bed shifts, and suddenly warm breaths ghost over Ignis’ eyelid like butterfly wings.

‘For real, I’m only reminded of how brave and selfless you are, every time I look at this. And you’ve been walking on like nothing could ever stop you,’ Prompto murmurs, the words quivering. ‘You’re seriously … so amazing. Some days, I honestly don’t know how you do it.’

The sentiment is thick with two years of war, and Ignis’ heart clenches.

His hand finds the edge of Prompto’s sleeve; he tugs. Prompto melts into that call without delay, leaning in further to trace dry lips over the outer corner of Ignis’ eye, and Ignis feels the heat of that contact kindling at his breastbone, reaching into his belly. Prompto’s mouth then moves to outline the curve of his eyebrow, tongue flitting out soft and wet, and Ignis’ exhale snags sharply in his throat.

‘… I don’t have much of a choice, technically speaking,’ he answers eventually, slipping his hand beneath the shirt fabric at Prompto’s hip, finding relief in the warm expanse of skin there. ‘I’ve been trained all my life to get by, and I’m able to just fine. But it’s always made easier and better whenever you’re here.’

Prompto swings his leg over to bracket Ignis’ hips with his knees, fingers suddenly clenching tight at Ignis’ shoulder, and Ignis knows then that Prompto’s managed to read beneath the surface level of that statement. He _gets_ it.

‘I’ll be here with you even when I’m not, Iggy,’ Prompto rasps out in declaration, determined.

Ignis smiles at that. ‘We’ll keep braving the dark together then, shall we?’

Their mouths meet, quiet breaths undulating in time with each other, and when the pad of Prompto’s thumb sweeps over the scar, Ignis doesn’t shy away again.

 


	4. they’ll sing battle hymns in your name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Noctis gets a glimpse of two of his friends fighting for one another, along with whatever feelings lie beneath it all._
> 
> This is a gift for the wonderful Coco, whose [gorgeous fanart](http://merwild.tumblr.com/post/170588633222/) actually serves as the inspiration for this ficlet, and appears as a brief scene in it. Thank you for blessing us all with your beautiful work! I hope you (and anyone else reading this) enjoy. :)
> 
> As usual, feel free to come chat FF (and promnis) with me on [Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/171417347896/fic-theyll-sing-battle-hymns-in-your-name) ❤︎

## they’ll sing battle hymns in your name

  
It doesn’t take long for Noctis to notice that his best friend’s a fighter.

Not by wielding a sword or nursing a sharp tongue – but by weathering the thorny pathways of a less-than-stellar life with a summery smile and hardly a word of serious disdain. For all that Noctis always pours his own heart into trying to fully understand, he knows that he doesn’t always; after all, royal blood and circumstance has birthed him into a world that’s different from everyone else’s, and the hardships that he faces day-to-day aren’t exactly in the same realm as the struggles of the common people.

But he still notices Prompto’s endeavor to find his footing in school; a relentless pursuit to find a place to belong, held intact through good spirits and a visible ache to _be_ something. He notices Prompto’s resolve to _hang in there_ ; to root himself and not get swept away by the ongoing absence of his parents, by the empty hallways and too-quiet rooms that must feel more like the hollow fragments of a house rather than the connecting pieces of a home. He notices the sincerity and truth in every word when Prompto eventually opens up to him with the actual gritty specifics about his personal quest to shed his excess weight, all the minute details of which are more than easy to believe, because he knows that Prompto fights each of his battles with a hardened jaw and ever-advancing footfalls and nothing less.

On the whole, he catches on to Prompto’s drive to stay true to himself, to stay grounded, to stay _good_.

‘I’m fine,’ Prompto always tells him in reassurance; and even if Noctis is aware of Prompto not really being fine at any given moment, he trusts and knows that with time, he will be.

And he thinks, too, that meeting Ignis may have changed Prompto’s life.

Not that it’s obvious, at first, because Prompto’s determination to gradually crack into Ignis’ stony exterior is also an everyday battle in itself – one that takes him at least three weeks to muscle through after the two of them are initially introduced; surprisingly enough, Ignis’ guarded and wary suspicion doesn’t make a comeback after it’s finally replaced with that very first trace of a half-smile.

‘Good to see you guys are finally getting along,’ Noctis ends up drawling at them without looking up from his phone, a purposeful tone of boredom dulling the pointed knowing in his voice.

Ignis answers by tutting at him with more agreement than displeasure, a confirmation of Prompto’s heartfelt efforts bearing fruit; and Noctis is only made surer, then, that an earnest fighter like Prompto is more than welcome to a place amongst his Crownsguard, and worthy of all hopes and dreams murmured in quiet prayers in the dark.

After a while, the pain of losing his dad recedes to a dull ache, but never really fades away. It still drapes itself like a shadow over the bones of his ribs, like faint curls of smoke against the walls of his chest.

He worries, sometimes – despite loving his dad and never begrudging his tragic departure – about the possibility of being fated to a similar future as a fallen king, of being unable to protect the people he cares for, of leaving them behind in a funerary darkness.

There’s no real knowing of what’s to come; every so often, it’s hard not to harbor dread in the pit of his stomach.

And yet there are other times when the crackling of the campfire is a soothing lullaby that sings him to sleep, when the quivering energy and towering bodies of four fully grown men who have been squeezed into a tiny hotel room is more of a consolation than a discomfort, when the fluid roll of the Regalia sweeps just the right amount of crisp wind through his dusky hair, when the security of battling alongside his three friends helps him forget all the grief and apprehension that’s sunken into his shoulders.

‘—Prompto.’ An assured call that rings as smooth as red wine, and carries a hint of a smile.

‘Yeah, gotcha, Iggy!’

Noctis has the fortune of witnessing a somewhat incredible sight when he turns toward their voices: of Ignis and Prompto skimming up close to each other in a single step, of unused magic thrumming like golden electricity in Ignis’ palm, of Prompto aiming beyond Ignis’ shoulder and gunning down the magitek trooper behind him in one clean shot – all while Ignis _has his back turned to the enemy_ , as though he trusts Prompto with every thread holding his body intact.

Triumph curves the corners of both their mouths, and when Ignis goes on to return the favor by letting loose on the imperial soldiers inching toward Prompto’s flank, Prompto slides a gaze of honey-warm thrill up at Ignis – a look that’s wholeheartedly reciprocated with a deliberate slow flick of shimmering green eyes from behind silver glass, before the momentary haze between them clears, and they swiftly part.

It’s the first time Noctis has ever seen the two of them look at each other like _that_ , but he immediately understands.

Just as he understands when, after Ignis’ eyes cloud over and can no longer see anything of the world, Prompto will lace their trembling fingers together and press his lips to Ignis’ bruised knuckles when he seems to think no one’s looking.

He understands when Prompto quickly leaps to Ignis’ defense down in Fodina Caestino, insisting to a stubborn Gladiolus that Ignis _should be free to choose_.

He eventually understands the spine-chilling composure in Ignis’ voice on the phone on the train, as if the only choice left to him is to keep himself rational, keep himself together.

He understands the staggering relief slackening the edges of Ignis’ face when they miraculously get Prompto back.

All in all, he understands that Prompto’s always been a fighter – and so is Ignis. So is Gladiolus, and himself. He knows that they’ll all fight for everything they cherish; for even the smallest seed of a too-new, terrifying love that’s blooming and flowering in an inopportune time, in an unlikely place.

Noctis realizes, then, that whatever kind of fate is set to consume him, the fight will go on without him. And maybe that’s okay.

‘When the sun rises again,’ says Prompto in declaration, jaw set and shoulders squared, ‘I’m gonna ask him to marry me.’

Noctis’ pulse quickens, drumming a rhythmic beat at the roof of his mouth. He’s fully aware, deep in his gut, that that future’s not in his horizon; he won’t even be around to see the dawn, let alone the sunlit wedding that his two friends will be sure to have.

Ten years gone in the blink of an eye, and this is yet another thing that’ll slip through the gaps between his fingers. Ten years and the entire world’s crumbled into ruin; but there’s some measure of stable comfort, at least, in the small handful of things that haven’t changed.

‘That’s – amazing, Prom. Congrats in advance.’ His throat seizes around the roughened shape of the words, and he swallows down all the years’ worth of built-up emotion until he’s sure he won’t crack to pieces right here and now. ‘About time. It’s been a lot of years for you guys, huh?’

‘Iggy’s sort of been hinting at wanting it, yeah.’ A single, gentle huff of laughter, and callused fingers raking through coarse hair in a genuinely sweet kind of nervousness. ‘Not sure if he’s planning to propose to me or hoping that I’d propose to him, but I figured I’d take the initiative, either way. I mean, it’s something I really want, too.’

A far cry from the young man whose insecurities had flickered like fading candlelight in the damp film of his eyes, whose uncertainty of his own fortitude had led to the questioning of his own worth to be one of Noctis’ personal Crownsguard, whose gaze upon his three road trip companions had frequently held an unhidden yearning as if he wasn’t sure he actually _belonged_ – self-doubt had evidently existed right alongside his willpower to fight, an odd paradox in which each occasionally managed to stir up the other. Noctis isn’t seeing much of that diffidence right now, to his relief.

‘… We’re gonna rebuild everything from the ground up,’ Prompto murmurs under a breath; a solemn promise. ‘When the time comes.’

It hangs thick and stifling in the space between them, the knowledge that the word _we_ doesn’t include him, but Noctis offers a tremulous smile anyway, letting sentiment clench at his heart tissue without speaking any of it aloud. _I know you will_.

The end of everything winds up coming too fast, and it’s hard to gather the last of his thoughts when he’s slumped on the long-desolate throne with a blade through his ribs, but he’ll take it all with him to keep beyond his very last breath – the solace of having seen his friends one more time, seeing that they’re holding up well. He spares a flash of recollection to the soothing familiarity of Gladiolus curling snugly into himself in a camping chair; to the marvel of having Ignis cook and engage in combat with relative ease in his sightlessness, painting a clear portrait of a hard-won battle to overcome what he’d lost; to the cozy warmth with which Prompto had interrupted meal preparations on that final night at camp, fingers pulling lazily at Ignis’ uniform until Ignis had leaned down with a heartbreaking smile and their mouths had softly met.

They’ll all surely be alright – happy, even. The fight for their future is a fight they’ve always faced with no qualms. They’ll be safe in the hands of the new world, and the new world will be safe in theirs.

Noctis’ lips quirk upward in the barest whisper of a smile.

With that reassurance, he lets go, and slides into sleep.


	5. dusk at the mirror's back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Ignis offers a lesson that eventually returns to him in a different form._
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely Bre, without whom the Promnis fandom would be a much less sunny and dazzling place. Thank you for being you. ❤︎
> 
> (As usual, feel free to come chat FF (and promnis) with me on [Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/173607826616/fic-dusk-at-the-mirrors-back)!)

## dusk at the mirror's back

  
‘… Never really thought it’d make a difference whichever way you cut it,’ Prompto admits in thoughtful fascination, teeth biting at one side of his bottom lip. ‘Guess it makes sense now that on some days, my stir fry was chewier than on other days.’

‘Well, with what little resources you had access to back when you began to fend for yourself, not being versed in such specific techniques is something I’d deem forgivable.’ The thin, elegant arch of Ignis’ eyebrow rises with purpose over the dark upper frame of his spectacles. ‘Though now that you’re about to be appropriately informed, you’ll have no excuse hereafter.’

Prompto crinkles his nose at that, midway to a playful sulk. ‘That’s cold, Iggy.’

‘It’s only fair that I expect as much, should you volunteer your help again in the future,’ Ignis says with a pointed look, but no real severity behind the words; only the flicker of a half-smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. ‘So, as I was saying. In a cut of meat like skirt steak, you may not always expect—’

‘—Mmm, how about you show me?’ Prompto hums, low and deliberate. Gladiolus’ amused snort and Noctis’ outward groan rings out from the far end of the campsite, then, and it tips him off-balance for a brief moment – the sudden stark reminder that he and Ignis aren’t alone, and everything they’re doing right now is basically laid open to the conscious scrutiny of their friends. But he clamps down on the residual scrap of reserve swirling up past his chest, and presses on: ‘You know. Like … do it with me. Hands-on. Easy meat preparation 101.’

Ignis slowly pushes up that eyebrow again, one part keenly knowing and one part dimly amused; between that weighted look and the easy poise and composure accompanying it, Ignis really is damn attractive to a degree that Prompto thinks is kind of unfair.

On top of it all, he doesn’t seem to be burdened in the slightest by Prompto’s shamelessly obvious attempts to get in under his wire.

‘… You want to read the direction of the muscle fibers. The fine parallel lines you can see running down the cut of steak is the grain.’ Ignis takes a step in closer, sliding a steady hand snugly over Prompto’s and guiding their connected fingertips together along the thin, pale threads marking the raw meat. Which is hilariously weird in hindsight, but also fascinatingly, bizarrely hot at the same time because it’s _Ignis_ – and at the end of the day, Prompto did technically ask for this, and can really only lie in the grave that he’s willingly dug himself. ‘Slicing across the grain will sever the fibers and produce a much more tender result. Almost melt-in-your-mouth tender.’

‘Uh huh,’ says Prompto airily; he _is_ paying attention, honestly, but Ignis is gradually shifting over all the while so that his body heat’s closing in on Prompto’s back, and keeping focus may or may not be getting _just_ a touch harder.

‘The lines in skirt steak may not run in the direction that you’d possibly expect for easy slicing … as is the case with the one we have here.’ Ignis’ breath is warm, swirling against the shell of Prompto’s ear like licks of flame, and it’s pretty much absurdly unnecessary for him to navigate Prompto’s hand so that they’re picking up the knife and cutting the meat together – but at this point, Prompto couldn’t care less about what can be considered unnecessary or not. ‘It generally has more value in its flavor than its texture, but it’s still very much ideal to maintain as much tenderness as you can manage. So you would slice its full length in half to make cutting across the grain more manageable, and then proceed to cut as you normally would.’

Even with Prompto’s fingers beneath his own, Ignis’ movements are fluid, practiced, precise. Prompto tilts his head a little to pitch him a sideward glance; he’s always liked the wet-lit brilliance of Ignis’ eyes, and the delicate shadows cast by Ignis’ long lashes.

‘… You’re too good at this,’ he murmurs, and it’s probably coming out a little more breathy than he’s intending for it to.

‘Prompto, these are just the basics,’ Ignis answers nonchalantly, a light hint of teasing peppered through his voice. Long fingers trail lazily over Prompto’s hip when he continues: ‘Ah, will you look at that. Seems like our companions saw fit to vacate while they could.’

Gladiolus and Noctis are nowhere to be seen when Prompto turns to look, and he can’t help but huff out soft laughter at the sight of the now-abandoned camping chairs. He supposes he can’t blame them.

‘Well then, Iggy.’ He sets the knife down, lips slowly unfurling into a toothy grin, and pivots on his toes until he and Ignis are face-to-face. ‘Whatever should we do about that?’

Ignis shakes his head in affectionate disbelief, clearly unable to keep the miniscule smile from flowering on his own face, and tugs Prompto right in close to meet him in the middle.

‘Hmm, I’m not—’ Ignis pauses suddenly. Draws in a full, long breath that doesn’t manage to budge the tension in his shoulders. ‘—Is this sirloin?’

Prompto hovers at his side, uncertain and hesitant.

‘… Sorry, Iggy,’ he eventually says, the words dusted with regret. ‘I probably should’ve asked the vendor, huh? I guess it didn’t cross my mind at the time. I, uh, I don’t really know what it is. I only managed to have that one lesson with you. The one with the skirt steak.’

‘Judging by the dimensions alone, this isn’t skirt steak, that’s for sure. Which way does the grain run?’

Thin lines streak the meat in every direction as far as Prompto can tell, and he succumbs to a moment of dread. He wishes he’d helped Ignis cook more, back then; maybe he could’ve learned properly and become more well-informed. He wishes he could help Ignis more now, with anything at all.

He wishes Altissia hadn’t happened the way it did.

‘It’s …’ he starts, tentative and unsure. ‘Kind of everywhere. Like, lots of directions. I don’t know if that helps.’

‘I may be correct in my guess, then. The cracks of segmentation here do feel to me like a sirloin cut,’ Ignis goes on, trailing battle-worn fingertips over the deep clefts splitting the surface of the meat. ‘I suppose I’ll just – separate the sections first, and then try to figure out how to cut this properly from there onwards. Would you mind telling me where the knife is?’

‘I left it to your right,’ Prompto answers, his throat tight.

And Ignis gets to work, as best as he can manage. Following the fissures in the meat by touch and slowly, carefully dividing the slab into its marked sections; slicing off a thin sliver and pulling at it questioningly with his fingers and thumbs; clicking his tongue in evident disappointment and rotating the steak to a different angle; wordlessly shaving off another slice and trying again.

It takes three incorrect attempts before he finally finds the grain of the first piece – by that time, his jaw's visibly clenched and hard-set, while his hand's coiled itself into a bone-tight fist around the knife handle. His movements are still well-steeped in the poised and graceful quality that they've always had, even despite the loss of his eyesight; but right now, Ignis is clearly _fighting_. Prompto can almost tangibly see the thoughts processing and running a mile a minute, the guessing, the calculating, the striving. The grieving.

The pale wedge of fat that Ignis proceeds to remove next ends up being sheared at an angle that's maybe a little too oblique, taking a decent excess of the actual meat along with it on one end, but Prompto doesn’t have the heart to tell him right now.

‘… This doesn’t feel right,’ Ignis murmurs, almost softly enough for his voice to dissolve into the silence around them. ‘I don’t mean cooking – I mean _me_. I suppose I just … feel rather lost.’

The statement is Ignis stripped down to his very bones, bared and disarmed and vulnerable.

Prompto moves, then. Taking a sideward step so he can close in from behind. Curling a long arm around Ignis’ middle, and pressing a cheek warmly into Ignis’ shoulder.

‘You’ll find yourself again if you keep trying,’ he says, the words quiet and quivering. ‘And you won’t be alone for any part of it if you don’t want to be. I’m in it for the long haul, yeah? Here for as long as you want me.’

He reaches out, slides his palm securely over Ignis’ knife hand just as Ignis had done with him that sunny day, less than four months back. Not to guide or navigate as it’d been with that particular cooking session, but simply to say: _I’m here_.

Not to mention he’s the only one who _is_ here right now, what with Noctis’ departure into the Crystal and Gladiolus’ retreat to parts unknown; the spare chairs around Prompto’s and Ignis’ dining table are as vacant and bare as the day they’d been needlessly bought, and won’t fill themselves anytime soon.

But he and Ignis will get through the days, Prompto knows, the way they’ve always done.

Ignis finishes off cutting the last slices of meat, with Prompto’s hand still warmly enveloped over his; he proceeds to place the knife aside, then, and swivel around in Prompto’s arms – Prompto misses the soothing heat and imagined blood-pulses of their connected wrists already. He misses being able to sink himself into Ignis’ eyes at any moment in time, too, once brilliant and sharp and alive, now void and broken and often shielded away behind dark glass.

It’s okay, though, because at the end of the day, he loves Ignis either way, and Ignis isn’t any less beautiful to him than before.

‘There’ll never be a point at which I don’t want you,’ Ignis says, and the declaration is both earnest and firm.

‘Same goes for you,’ Prompto answers at once, locking away the throb in his chest. ‘And _good_. ‘Cause I don’t plan on going anywhere.’

They pull together like gravity, steady and tight. Prompto’s always had an aching fondness for Ignis’ hugs.

Ignis’ road won’t end here, and Prompto has every intention of walking it together with him when tomorrow comes.


	6. the unspoken language in our palms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which Ignis learns to let uncertainties fade, and it brings about profound change._
> 
> This oneshot is written for the wonderful KaitouAce (love you Dad!) as part of the Promnis Secret Santa event. I was told that it was okay to write a piece that was not specifically holiday-themed; but of course, in keeping with the holiday spirit, I just had to write something fluffy and happy! I hope y’all enjoy this little piece about hand-holding (with a small dash of internal drama, lol).
> 
> Just as a warning for anyone who may possibly be sensitive to this kind of thing – this fic touches on feelings of insecurity with regard to potential judgment of “impropriety”, and thus it contains depictions of unintentional fear over (hinted) prejudice. Everything works out in the end, though, I promise. ❤
> 
> (As usual, feel free to come chat FF (and promnis) with me on [Tumblr](http://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/180692156991/)!)

## the unspoken language in our palms

  
Nervous uncertainty is, without any doubt, the worst kind of beast in every circumstance.

‘My apologies,’ Ignis blurts out quickly, filled at once with absolute regret. ‘It wasn’t my intention—’

‘No, no, it’s cool. I get it. It’s fine,’ Prompto shakes out a laugh, quivering and somewhat awkward; he pulls his hand away and ruffles the hair at the back of his head instead, sending blond tufts askew in all directions. His voice is lowered with evident respect when he reaffirms: ‘I mean, I should’ve known that with me coming to see you at the end of your work day, there’d be plenty of other people still roaming around the offices on this floor.’

The truth of that implication is more than upsetting to hear being put into words. Ignis swallows, tense brows creasing.

‘… Hey. Don’t look like that,’ Prompto reassures, voice turning cotton-soft. ‘Really, Iggy, it’s okay. This is – pretty new. _We’re_ pretty new. It’s not something that comes _just like that_. Like I said, I get it.’

Twenty-odd years of ushering any sliver of indulgence away behind closed doors, and Ignis wishes, in that moment, that he hadn’t been born and bred to the utmost degree of public professionalism and so-called respectability. He wishes that his inbuilt hesitations hadn’t conveniently kicked in when all Prompto had wanted to do was take his hand.

He wishes that his body hadn’t betrayed him, that his fingers hadn’t self-consciously curled away, when Prompto had reached his own out to them.

‘That may be true,’ Ignis murmurs, repentant. ‘But being held back in that manner is hardly what you deserve. You’re something to me, Prompto. I truly am sorry.’

Prompto’s answering smile comes warm as the sun. Tender as dawn light, and a touch tremulous along the edges.

‘… C’mon, let’s grab dinner,’ he says with good cheer, clapping Ignis lightly at the peak of his shoulder blade. ‘I’m starving. And super-happy to see you, just so you know.’

An itch prickles at the nerves of Ignis’ fingertips. In all honesty, that sentiment’s more than mutual.

Prompto’s mouth circles out with interest. ‘No car, huh.’

‘No car,’ Ignis confirms evenly, pleasure curving the corners of his lips. ‘Admittedly, His Highness seems to be quite desperate to spend his afternoon off with you, so he may potentially be cross at me for taking my time in picking you up today – but I figure that this way, I’m able to get an extra hour or so with you before he inevitably steals you away. Every minute counts, after all.’

‘God. That’s – really _sweet,_ Iggy.’ Earnest emotion gleams hot under Prompto’s pale lashes; he pulls in a thin and steadying breath, obviously moved. Long fingers unfurl, nudging against Ignis’ questioningly. ‘I really want – is it okay if—’

‘—Yes,’ Ignis murmurs, and has to draw in a level breath of his own. Their hands move in synchronous reflex, slipping together until their palms are snugly pressed and hooked; it’s warm, cozy, safe. A sturdy comfort. ‘Yes, I’d like this too.’

The heartfelt grin that slowly spreads open across Prompto’s face is summer-bright and near-glimmering, and altogether worth it in every respect.

They’ve only managed to walk one single block down, however, when Ignis thinks he may or may not have just seen Insomnia’s very conservative Deputy Treasurer driving by.

One-and-a-half blocks down when, for some odd reason, the wide openness and yawning size of the street they’re on catches his attention.

Two blocks down when he starts to register just how many people tend to mill around at the current time of day, coming and going like trickles of water, back and forth.

Three blocks down when every passing black vehicle starts to spike up his pulse; when his treacherous mind tumbles straight into the unsettling fantasy of all sorts of faces in the citadel eyeing him with reproach. Accusing him of being unable to uphold a proper public image. Deeming him unbefitting for such highly respectable work. Condemning him as unsuitable to continue his life’s work of serving Noctis, or to represent the crown in all its majesty and esteem.

Poison can spread quickly in the royal court. And not all of Ignis’ colleagues are open-minded or kind.

‘… Iggy,’ Prompto suddenly says, calm and careful and slow. ‘You’re, uh, you’re being really quiet. And your hand’s … kinda gone all sweaty. I’m gonna let go.’

Prompto’s palm slides away from Ignis’, already quickly gone before Ignis even has the chance to squeeze it in attempted reassurance. The subsequent empty air swirls over-cool against the clamminess of Ignis’ abandoned fingers and ungloved skin; a flourish of shame and exasperation instantly blooms within his ribcage.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ignis murmurs sincerely, and he finds himself carrying nothing but contempt for the words. A deep dislike for how meaningless they are, when he’s recurrently unable to keep his own trivial insecurities at bay. ‘There’s no excuse. It’s deplorable to let such qualms get the better of me.’

‘I know you didn’t mean it, though.’ Prompto’s breathless answer comes with a considerate half-smile, tragically sweet and generously understanding. ‘Hey, you’ve got Insomnia’s biggest job! And it’s been, like, your entire life. Practically everyone recognizes your face. Makes sense that you’ve gotta follow etiquette.’

‘The etiquette is nonsensical, and we both know it,’ Ignis says, with an ounce of bitterness that he can’t quite keep out of his tone. ‘My job means a great deal to me. But so do you.’

Prompto smiles at that, somewhat unsteady but very much genuine. Ignis can barely press down the scorching urge to do better.

They walk the rest of the way to Noctis’ apartment in silence.

Prompto’s over the moon to see him, which in retrospect is hardly a surprise – of course he is. His wholehearted keenness where Ignis is concerned is nothing new.

A tender ‘Hi,’ accompanied by those delicate constellations of freckles and just the tiniest hint of boyish shyness is enough to form a characteristic picture of Prompto’s sunlit bearing; it all stirs a pleasant heat at Ignis’ collarbone, consuming his entire attention so effortlessly that he almost forgets that a horde of other relatively new Crownsguard recruits are ambling around them at present, pouring out like rolling waves into the hallway after the just-concluded meeting.

‘Hello to you too,’ Ignis murmurs with subtle delight. ‘I actually cooked enough for both of us tonight – if you’d be inclined to join me for dinner?’

‘Why, Ignis Scientia.’ A playfully scrunching nose, a pale gleam of teeth within a budding grin. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

The teasing question shoots a muted thrill and an unreserved fondness up Ignis’ spine, and he’s amazed, all of a sudden, by how efficiently that sensation swallows him whole. Such that to his surprise, even though they’re out in the open in the midst of a multitude of listening ears, he hardly registers any beadlet of paranoia dripping over him at this moment.

Perhaps a consequence of slowly flowering self-awareness after the prior two incidents; but either way, the near-boldness is an oddly novel feeling. He sinks all of his fingernails into it, grasping tight.

‘… Well. There’s time aplenty to make more of the night than just that, if you so wish,’ Ignis answers low in his throat, relishing in the reflexive flush that smears across Prompto’s jaw. He grazes his knuckles across Prompto’s, a light sweep that’s already kindling eagerness at his nerve endings. ‘Shall we?’

With that, they make their way off, the contact between their hands remaining unbroken. Unadulterated cheer shines clearly at every corner of Prompto’s face – and really, Ignis only feels a little braver for it. The back of Prompto’s palm is warm against his own; he nudges callused knuckles through the gaps between Prompto’s fingers, and at once, Prompto opens up to let him through. To let him in.

The two of them are just slightly tangled into each other above the fingertips, now, and even though Ignis hasn’t actually fully taken his hand, Prompto doesn’t push for it. Ignis casts over a curious sidelong look; there’s nothing in Prompto’s expression but earnest joy.

A simple courage and tenacity, quite stunning to behold. Maybe, Ignis realizes, that’s playing a part in inspiring some of his own today, too.

It makes sense given how securely Prompto’s occupied the space in his heart, after all.

At the opposite end of the hallway, Noctis’ and King Regis’ modest smiles sink into Ignis’ skin like a gracious welcome. He dips his head once in reverence before ushering Prompto away.

‘Basically a road trip, then. A getaway with the boys.’

Ignis doesn’t take the bait, peering at Prompto pointedly over the upper rim of his spectacles.

‘… Kidding. _Kidding_ ,’ Prompto huffs out a soft, clipped laugh. ‘I get that this is important for Noct. I know it’s not meant to be fun and games.’

‘I wouldn’t say that there’s no time for such things. Provided that it doesn’t interfere with our main objective,’ says Ignis with mild amusement, settling his focus on their route ahead. The pathway they’re on is crawling with endless smatterings of crown citizens seeking any means of distraction and leisure; the Insomnian streets are always rich with vibrant activity at this time of the weekend. ‘I’m glad to see you approaching the prospect with some degree of enthusiasm, regardless.’

‘Can you blame me? He’s getting hitched!’ Pale eyes glimmer with genuine awe, bright and wholesome. Then Prompto’s voice dips lower, a touch more serious, when he continues: ‘And … hey. I get to spend that time on the road together with you.’

Ignis turns; Prompto’s gaze is already fixed to meet his. Unwavering, open, steady.

In all respects, they’re quite new – they haven’t been together for very long. But Ignis already knows what that mounting heat in his chest cavity is. He knows what it’s the start of.

He knows, in this moment and always, where it’s going to lead.

Really, his worries should’ve faded into dust a long time ago.

“Etiquette” be damned, he reaches out. Slowly threads his fingers through Prompto’s until the two of them are securely twined together. Pries open his own door to an overflow of strange, refreshing courage that seems to only be further bolstered just by looking at the young man by his side.

Blood pounds a quickening beat at the rise of his throat, and it has nothing to do with trepidation.

It feels beyond liberating.

‘I’m really looking forward to that too,’ Ignis murmurs earnestly, giving the hand in his a light squeeze. Prompto grins hard enough in answer for Ignis to feel it ache in his own heart tissue.

Despite the traditionalist nature of many of those who bear duties to the royal court, it’s not the job that’d held him back, Ignis realizes. It’d been _himself_.

And there’s no sensation quite like breaking free.

Ignis can hardly find it in him to flinch when the very same heavily conservative royal Deputy Treasurer whose potential appearance had thrown him off-balance a few weeks back suddenly sweeps past them on the pathway, her gaze flicking down at their joined hands with some degree of righteous outrage; he has to bite down on his lip to restrain himself from cheerfully saying _Feel free to direct your complaints to the King_ , and to keep the delightful euphoria bubbling in his chest from overflowing.

Etiquette be damned, indeed.

‘… It’s rather far for you to travel, Marshal,’ Ignis says smoothly; patience is often hard to come by in the midst of Lestallum’s heat and crowds, but really, he’s always had more than enough patience in him to give. ‘We’d be more than happy to give you a ride.’

‘Alright,’ Cor replies with modest appreciation, giving a single nod of acceptance. ‘If it’s no trouble for you.’

‘Not in the least. Come, we’ve parked over there.’ And before he even realizes he’s doing it, he turns over to Prompto like it’s second nature, even though he’s addressing them all when he asks: ‘All set to get going?’

Prompto’s face comes alight from edge to edge, like beams of sunshine. ‘Yeah,’ he chirps brightly in answer.

The response warms the deep of Ignis’ chest; with that, they make their way off.

They’ve barely threaded through Lestallum’s streets and wandering citizens for half a minute when Ignis finds himself giving in to unfettered impulse. He reaches over, takes Prompto’s hand in his, raises the back of it to his lips. Lays a quick kiss upon Prompto’s knuckles before letting their hands sink back down together, to swing faintly between the two of them as they walk on.

‘Ah – I wasn’t aware. About the two of you,’ Cor says behind them, mildly conversational. ‘… Good.’

Ignis and Prompto can hardly help but smile.


End file.
